The Survivor
by Kinsman
Summary: Jule Bensson saves the life of a mysterious man she hires to protect her out on the wastes. As she tries to unravel his past, she learns many things about the world that her daddy never taught her. T for coarse language.
1. One Crazy Bitch

Chapter One - Crazy Bitch

"Hold still," she says as the syringe breaks his skin. Her eyes were scanning the carnage that lay before her. "But keep on talking."

"This is stupid. If you are going to help me, then help me. Im not jumping through any more of your hoops, you crazy bitch!" the bleeding man growls through gritted teeth. The Med-X was starting to take effect, however, and the pain was decreasing slightly.

She sighs. "Alright, have it your way." Her eyes still scanning the grisly scene, she takes a step away from the dying man. "I've lessened your pain as much as I could.. Have a nice rest of your life." Another step.

"Wait," he whispers. "I'll talk. Help me."

Without a word, she takes another step away. Then another. A fifth. She bends down and picks up a knife from a pool of mud made from blood and sand. A short while ago, she watched as that very same knife came right at her throat.

Right before the blade touched her skin there were two explosions and a shower of blood. Where the knife had been, there was a bloody stump of what used to be the raider's arm. That man now lies next to her, armless, and with the left side of his head blown off completely. As she wipes the knife on the dead man's clothes, she draws her lips tight together. "Pretty what a shotgun can do at pont-blank."

She walks a bit further and finds a big muscular man, topless, drowning in his own pool of blood. This one was killed before he even had a chance to react, with a single bullet right through the bridge of his nose and out the back of his head.

She tries to lift his weapon, but it was way too heavy for her. She drags it instead. Struggling with the weight of the heavy weapon, she places the grip on the dying man's hand. He looks at her as if she was asking him to pet a Deathclaw. She could practically feel his agony radiatiing from his face. This is the man who saved her life, perhaps at the cost of his own.

"Squeeze the trigger," she commands. The man grits his teeth and stifles a scream as he struggled to accomodate the pushy woman. Suddenly, A roar of blue and yellow flames erupts from the far end of the Flamer. "Keep it going," she says. she walks toward the flames and thrusts the blade into the stream of fire."

"Well?" She yells over the roar of the fire.

"Fuck," the man says through clenched teeth. "you are one crazy bitch!"

"Stop calling me that, im about to save your life." She yelled back at him, pulling the knife out of the fire.

He sniggered. The irony was not lost to him. A sharp pain flashed from his gushing wound, causing him to grunt and let the trigger go. Suddenly, it was silent.

"My name, my REAL name, is Chance." he says, gasping for air. He let the flamer go and his hand fell to the ground. He couldnt even lift it if he wanted to. "Thats what my parents named me when i was born."

"Okay, Chance. Theres a chance that this is gonna hurt," She said to the gaping hole in his stomach.

"What is?"

Down went the red hot knife, biting into the man's flesh. He could smell his own skin being burnt.

He screamed for an eternity before he was swallowed by the darkness. But not before he was able to whisper "Crazy bitch" one last time.

Hours after the sun sets, Her voice wakes him. He is next to a raging fire, yet he is shivering, and could not move. "We're over here!" she yells. "Took you two long enough. We need to get this man to dad right now."

"Damn it, Jule.." he hears some stranger say as his strength leaves him. He goes back to sleep.


	2. Detroit

Chapter Two - Detroit

Jule opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of Nuka Cola. It was cold. A working refrigerator is a thing of beauty out here in the wastes. It took Bart all of three years to figure out, scavenge, buy, and assemble all the parts required to make the pre-war relic work. It is noisy, and it burns through a lot of micro-fusion cells, but the feeling of the sweating Nuka Cola bottle in her hands made it well worth it. She puts three more bottles of cola into the fridge. Its amazing what you can find out there in the wastes.

She opens the bottle then puts the bottle cap in her pouch.

"I guess you earned that," said a familiar voice from behind her. "I'm glad you made it back alive."

She gave the man a hug. "Oh, come on, Bart. You didn't think I'd get lost on the way to Rivet City for supplies, did you? Its only three days away!" She said, laughing. Ever since she could remember, it had been the three of them. Jule, her father, and this old dark-skinned man named Bart. Handy with a wrench especially during one of his fits of obsession, he and Jule's father had been friends since childhood.

Bart scratches his balding head with his wrench then runs his hands through his white curly hair.

"I can never tell if you're being serious or if you're yanking my chain," answered Bart. "Im sorry those two nitwits decided to leave you hanging at Rivet City, though.. If i ever see them.."

"You'll be wiping their brains off the wall after I finish with them" Jule interrupted. That's the last time she trusts freeloaders, she promises to herself. "Anyway, how is he?"

It hasn't been an hour since she, Dorkas, and Browmer stumbled home with the heavily wounded Chance in tow. Their home, as it was, is a collection of cargo containers arranged, modified, and stacked on top of each other in such a way that it resembled a building. they had built it eight years ago, after her father saw the long-haul truck yard and saw the possibility of setting up shop there.

Jule's father is a highly skilled doctor, one of the few in the wasteland, and used to make a living traveling from settlement to settlement, trading his and Bart's skills for caps. People recognized how rare a gifted healer is in this world, and there was never a shortage of custom for Arthur Bensson.

It was the only life Jule had known, traveling from settlement to settlement with her dad and uncle Bart. Her father's patients ranged from wealthy businessmen who pay a boatload of caps, to wastelanders who pay with the stuff they have scavenged. His medical skills are well recognized, and even town doctors often ask for his help, especially for extreme cases of radiation poisoning.

They had named their home Detroit after a great city of old, her father told her. Jule figured he just took it off an old pre-war magazine or something. Using connections fostered and cashing in favors owed, Arthur was able to secure a piece of unclaimed wasteland for their own.

He had convinced six people to "settle the land" with them. Most of those six have died since that time, killed by raiders looking to steal what they had built. their faces are a blur to Jule and their names have been long forgotten. Yet Detroit was successfully defended time and time again, and there was no shortage of people looking for a place to call their own, willing to take up arms to defend it.

Their population grew until the raiders realized that Detroit had grown too well defended to seize, and the raids lessened. It has been eight years since the Founding of Detroit, and already it is known for two things: Its great health care, and its ice-cold Nuka Cola. This village of container vans and lean-to structures meant the world to Jule. The twenty-five people looking up to her and her father for guidance are her extended family, and is a tight-knit community. Here in Detroit, they are as safe as safe can be in the wasteland. While her father never meant for it to be a community this big, he is able to hold it together very well, and is well loved and looked up to as the founder and leader of the town by its people. They treat Jule like a princess here, and there is no doubt in their minds that one day, she would be their queen.

"Your pops just started working on him. Says you did a pretty good job, considering you were out in the wastes. He'll probably pull through if Art can get the fever down..," Jule smiled as she heard him call her father Art. Bart liked to call their long-term partnership the "Bart and Art connection" It never failed to catch her father's goat. He is the only one who can call her father that without her father getting completely hostile. "Is it true though, or is Browmer talking out of his ass again? A flamer?"

"I had to sterilize that knife somehow, didn't I? I have no idea where its been!" she answered with a laugh.

"That's my Julie!" Bart said has he poked her cheek - he has been doing that ever since she was a toddler, and he is the only one who gets to call her "Julie", as well. "You're smart as your uncle an' crazy as your dad."

"It's better than smelling as bad as either of you though!" she said as she patted Bart's bearded cheek. "Im gonna go see Dad. Here you go." she hands him an almost empty bottle of cola. "See you later, uncle Bartholemew!"


	3. Mr Rust

Chapter Three- Mr. Rust

The clinic is where Arthur spends most of his days. There are many things that are lacking in the world these days, like common human decency and clean water.. but one thing the wastes arent short on is casualties. As he looks at the latest victim of life in the wastes, he cant imagine how he is still able to breathe. The wasteland truly breeds some tough men.

Chance, his daughter said. This was this man's name. As soon as Jule said that he saved her life, Arthur knew that he would do whatever he could to make sure this Chance would survive. Examining the body, he counted three bullet wounds in his abdomen. One was perilously close to a lung, but was off by a fraction of an inch. Jule had removed the other two bullets out on the field, and she did a good job, though the flesh around the wounds have grown puss-filled and stank of mortification. She didnt risk removing the third bullet, as it was too close to the lung. A combat knife would have done more harm than good in that situation.

This man's injuries were not solely on his abdomen, though. Both of his arms were shot, but those were only fleshwounds. His daugher had taken care of those injuries. The biggest danger is from the infection caused by the bullet holes in his gut.

He took his surgical knife and started on his work.

This man, he thought. This man has been through a lot. He could see it from the scars that covered his body. Slashes, bullet wounds, punctures and lacerations. This man has had many close encounters with death, yet he always managed to survive. And judging from the amount of ordinance he packed, Arthur removed a rifle, two different kinds of pistols, a small, sawed-off shot gun, and a sub machine gun from his body, he was well prepared for life out there in the wastes. he would have to get the whole story from his daughter as soon as he was finished with this.

A while later, he wasnt sure how long.. was it an hour or two minutes? He put the .55 calibre bullet that was lodged in the man's body in a pan of water. It promptly turned the water red. He stitched up the wounds and injected him with antibiotics. Rare stuff, here in the wastes, but he felt that this man deserved it. He wanted him to survive. He wanted to talk.

Chance, this guy's name was. How fortuitous.

The modified cargo container that served as his operating room is as sterile as a room can get in the wasteland. But far from being germ-free, there was always a risk of infection. There was nothing else he could to but trust in the man's will to live. He wasnt really worried as he pushed aside the heavy plastic curtain with his shoulder and slid aside the screen door with his elbow. His hands were covered with blood.

He stepped out onto the sunlight, where his daugher was waiting.

There she stood, with her hands on her waist, smiling that sly little smile of hers, like she knows something you dont. Her Jet black hair tied in a pony tail down to her waist. Her skin, fairer than anybody's should be out here in the wastes. She was the spiting image of her mother. All he had contributed to her anatomy was her sharp green eyes and slightly flat nose. "How is he?" she asked as she followed him over to the wash area.

"We've both done all we can. The rest is up to him." He gives her a reassuring smile. "I think hell be fine though. I shot him full of antibiotics." He looks at his daughter in the eye then changes the subject.

"I imagine you have a story to tell." He walks into the open wash area. "can you get that for me?"

Jule turns on the faucet and water came flowing out. Plumbing had been Bart's obsession this year. He had scoured the yard with the twins, Dorkas and Browmer, collecting pipes, pumps, and other oddfangled accoutrements for his water pump. Before the plumbing, they got their water from an old water tower a few minutes walk away from the main building of the Detroid compund. They stored them in barrels and boiled them. It might not have been purified water, but it was good enough to live off of.

With Bart's innovation, the water came to them.. He had scattered four water stations across the compund, and now has it in his head to fit their outhouses with something called "flushing toilets." Some of his obsessions are more attainable than others.

"The two bastards who were supposed to get me to Rivet City and back decided to extend their stay in the rusty old tub." Jule said as her father washed his hands. She watched the red water go round and round and disappear into the drain. she would have to ask Bart where the water went. Later.

"They said they were'nt getting payed, so they might as well take it easy there. I nearly got kicked out of the boat by the guards because of the ruckus I caused when I heard that."

During her tirade, a young boy came up to her and told her about Mr. Rust. He said that if anybody could get her home, it would be him. "He's staying at our place, Mr. Rust is. It's the inn upstairs. He's probably sleeping. He likes his sleep. He looks really cool, for a wastelander. But not as cool as another guy I met a while back. He has a lot of guns though, and he tells me some scary stories from time to time."

The young boy brought her to Mr. Rust, who was sitting at a bar, asking a Mr. Handy robot to tell him a joke.

"Detroit?" he said as soon as she finished asking him for his help. "You mean to say that the miracle doctor's place is still standing? Last I heard, that place was raider bait."

"It's still around," she answered. "My father is the miracle doctor you are talking about. And it would be a huge favor if you could help me out, because we need these supplies pretty badly."

"I dont do favors," he had answered.

"He will pay you.. you will have to haggle with him for price, though. I dont have much caps with me. you can have what i do have though, consider it a down payment." She dumps the contents of her cap pouch in front of him. He counted less than fifty. "Please, help."

He scrunched up his face and looked from the pile of caps to the girl in front of her. Prettier than most, he thought. Not sure if she's worth dying for, though. He looked at the kid standing beside her. "What do you think, kid? Should I play the good samaritan?"

"Yeah! This is a cake walk compared to that time you were ambushed by talking deathclaws in the middle of the night! I wish I could come, but my cousin wont let me," the boy answered. Fine, he thought. Its about time I got moving anyway. He pushed some of the caps toward the Robot on the other side of the bar. "Get me and the pretty lady some drinks." 


	4. The Girls

Chapter 4 - The Girls.

As soon as day broke, they were off. He wore a long leather trenchcoat, of faded and well worn leather. "see ya later, Harkness!" he said as the Sullen looking man swung the bridge that was the town's only entrance. "ill see if i can bring you back a nice woman when i come back. One who likes to talk as much as you. Doesnt that sound nice?"

"Get out of here, Rust." the man answered. Take your time coming back.. Better yet, dont."

"Yeah, yeah. Ill miss you too!"

Rivet city was the place he called home for the past few months. it was time for him to move on out. He was starting to get cabin fever, holed up in that floating bucket of bolts. He had made himself useful in a number of occasions, helping Harkness and his flunkies break up a few bar fights and forcefully ejecting a couple of would-be thieves. But things were pretty boring these recent weeks.

"Okay, lady. Which way to dear old dad?"

They had a long way to go. Their trek had not been quiet. Rust always had something to say. Funny how he could talk without saying anything, Jule thought as Rust regaled her about the time he helped the Legendary 101 clear out a raider den with nothing but a BB gun. "I saved his life," he finished. She figured he was full of shit.

"So, Mr. Rust. Tell me about yourself." She asked after a long day's march. It wasnt safe to walk the wasteland at night. It is pitch dark, and you never know what lurks behind each rocks.. Giant Rad Scorpions are tough enough without them having the jump on you.

"I've been talking non stop about me this whole time. Weren't you listening?" He said as he scooped out some Cram from its can with his fingers.

"I dont mean those bullshit stories you tell that kid back at the boat. Im not ten, buddy. Id like to know something about the man whose supposed to have my back in case things get hairy. Don't want you turning tail at the first sign of spikeheads, now, do I?" She put on her most serious face as she asked this, and looked at him right in his eyes. Next to the fire, she noticed for the first time that his eyes was dark. But the fire didnt let her know for sure if they were brown, black, or grey.

"You dont need to worry about that," he answered. "I've got lots of friends."

He reaches behind him and pulls out a Silenced 10mm pistol. "This is Ivy. She's the quiet one. She doesnt talk much, put when she whispers, you just know someone is headed for a dirt nap." He put Ivy down between them. Interesting, she thought. She had never seen a Silencer before.

He reaches behind him again, this time with his other arm, and pulls out a revolver. "This is Angelina. She's my oldest friend. She's never let me down yet." He popped open the cylinder and gave it a spin. He put Angelina next to Ivy.

Jule looked at the two pistols. They looked like they were well taken care of, and were in much better condition than all of the wasteland guns she has seen. She watched as Rust reached over to his right leg and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun hidden by the folds of his trench coat and his boot. "This is Bertha. Shes loud. And messy. A thing of beauty when I pull her trigger right in front of some poor schmuck's face. She likes it up close and personal." He puts Bertha down with her sisters.

Slung across his shoulder is a 10mm Submachine gun. "This is Jenna. Shes pretty handy when things get hot." He took out the magazine and placed it together with the gun right next to the others. "And last but not least," he reaches behind his back and pulls out the Sniper rifle that was slung across his back. It, along with the SMG were the only two weapons he had in plain sight. "This is the Bitch." She can take your head off from far, far away"  
He looks down the scope into the vast darkness beyond the circle of light given off by their fire."

"Thats a lot of guns," Jule finally speaks.

"And i know how to use each and every one of them pretty damn well," he says. "I've used each of them more times than I want to remember, so dont you worry about me turning tail at the first sign of spikeheads."

She went to sleep next to the fire, dreaming about Rust and his bevy of beauties. The way he talked about them, she couldnt help but feel that he knew what he was doing. In her dreams, she watched him dance with his girls, killing things like a deathclaw in a brahmin pen.

It was the next morning when it happened. It was a stupid mistake, really. Upon hindsight, she should have seen through the trap right away. They were hours at most away from Detroit when they stumbled upon a pair of people, who looked to be runaway slaves. One was wounded with a bullet in his shoulder.

"Keep moving," Rust had said. "They are probably being chased by their slavers and we dont want to be anywhere near them when they are caught."

The woman saw them approaching and hailed them. "Please help him," she said. "He's shot." She had tears in her eyes. "Our group was attacked by Yao Guai, and we two ran for it. But they got him. Please, please, dont let him die." Her voice was frantic.. begging.

Jule decided to help. Rust pointed Jenna the SMG toward the runaway slaves and started looking around. Something wasnt right. He looked at the man's wound. Jule was digging into her pack, searching for something to treat the man with. It was a bulletwound, alright. Right in his left shoulder.

He was shot from the front, he realized a few seconds too late.

"Alright, you do-gooders!." Said a slimy voice from behind a rock. "Showtime's over."

Chance closed his eyes as he heard the voice. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath. He watched as Jule stood up and walked backwards away from the bait, clutching her pack. She looked to Rust. "Get over here," he said. "Qucikly." She inched her way toward him.

Four raiders emerged from their hiding places.

"Good job you two. Youll get your prize when we get back to camp." The raider with the slimy voice said. "As for you goodie two shoes," he turned his attention to the two travellers. "As they say.. no good deed goes unpunished."

He laughed a slimy laugh and pulled out a dirty, wicked looking knife. His three companions looked on with sick smiles on their faces. "Put down your guns, tough guy." He told Rust. "Both of them."

"Youre the boss," Rust said as he tossed Jenna to the ground in front of them.

The three goons all pointed their weapons to him, surprised at his sudden movement. "Slowly, now.. my boys have.. shall we say.. itchy fingers." the raider said. "Dont want them to poke holes in our newest acquisitions, now, do we?"

"Were not blind, daddy-o." Said one of the goons lugging around a flamer. "The rifle too." His voice sounded like an earthquake- deep and gravely.

"Yes sir, whatever you say, sir." Rust had been quick to obey.

"Theres a good boy." hissed Slimy. As soon as Rust had kicked his rifle away, Slimy started walking toward Jule, his knife still drawn.

"Well, isnt this one a beauty! What do you think, boys?" He declared, eying her like a thick slice of brahmin steak. "Might be I'll keep this one for myself. Though she would fetch a nice price in the market."

The goons laughed.

"Go to hell, you slimy bastard." Jule had spat in his face. "Whats the matter, cant get a woman without your friends and their big guns to back you up?"

Raiders arent known for their intelligence. They are, however, famous for their temper. "I dont like it when my bitches talk," Slimy had said. Lets see how smart your mouth is with my knife jammed up your throat. He approached the offending girl, his knife leading the way. His cronies were laughing, eager for the blood to flow.

Right before the blade reached its target, Rust exploded into action. In a fluid motion, he crouched down, drew Bertha from her hidden leg holester, and pointed it right at Slimy's elbow as he extended his arm to silence Jule forever.

His arm exploded and Jule was hit by Slimy's dismembered arm, covering her face with a shower of blood. Slimy didnt even have time to curse his lost arm when Bertha roared agan, taking half of his head away. He fell to the ground, quite dead.

Jule stood there, stunned, blinded by the shower of blood. Not daring to move an inch, all she could do was listen as all hell broke loose around her.

Rust had dropped Bertha to the ground. Somehow, he had been able to draw Angelina with his free hand, and had it trained on the Flamer-equipped raider's head. He squeezed the trigger three times and down went the raider before he could even put his weapon to bear on his killer.

Rust's split second's advantage of surprise ran out then. The two remaining raiders started shooting. From his crouched position, all Rust could do was roll.

The two raiders completely forgot about the female and started firing at the man who killed their buddies.

Jule wiped the blood from her eyes in time to see Rust hit by a bullet mid-roll. His roll stopped, but the bullets didnt. He was hit a couple more times. He started firing at the two raiders and emptied his revolver on their assailants. He had hit both of them, but not enough to put them out of the fight. Lying on his side, he drew Ivy and finished the job. He emptied the magazine on the two raiders then let his arm drop.

Blood was pooling around him. 


	5. Welcome Back

Chapter 5- Welcome back.

Chance comes back to life, strapped into a hospital bed with stained white sheets. Not trusting himself to move, his eyes scanned his surroundings. His bed was on the topmost corner of a long, rectangular room. Beside him was a tray full of medical tools. He looked past the foot of his bed and saw heavy semi-transparent plastic curtains. Through them, he could see that it was pitch black outside.

"What the fuck did I get myself into now," he muttered. He looked at his bandaged body and remembered what had happened. "Miracle doctor." He chuckled, then prepared himself for the pain. It never came. He touched his abdomen through the bandage, and pushed down hard. A blotch of red blossomed under his touch. Still pretty banged up, he thought. But much better than I should be. Wonder where they got such clean bandages?

He thought about yelling for assistance. Maybe that crazy girl would come. He decided not to. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes. The last thing he saw as he drifted off to sleep was his equpment, which was neatly arranged at table near the exit. His guns, his coat, his pack, and his necklace.

"Aw, shit," he thought. Lotsa talking tomorrow."

He opened his eyes the next day alone and thirsty. "Room Service!" he tried to yell, but it was a pathetic attempt. He reached to the tray of medical tools and picked up a small, metal cup that held some sharp looking implements. He dumped all the stuff and smacked the wall with the metal cup. The effort exhausted him. The hit rang loud, and the noise made his head throb.

Three more hits and the doctor showed up, followed up by her daughter, holding a open bottle of Nuka Cola. It looked delicious. And cold.

The first thing you will notice about the doctor when you see him is his eyes. They look like the eyes of a green-eyed hawk. Piercing, sharp, intelligent.. and cunning. They are the eyes of a man you don't want to mess with. Good eyes. He was clean shaven. The bastard probably has a good razor, chance thought as his hand went up to his own chin.

Behind him, his daughter was wearing an odd smile. Funny, she never smiled when she was with me.

"Welcome back, Chance." He said, smiling warmly. "I must day, your tenacity impresses me. I barely needed to do anything for you to get better." He took Chance's hand "Arthur. Arthur Bensson. You know my daughter."

He looked at Jule. She did not say a word, but just stared at him, with that strange smile of hers. She nodded.

"Yes, I do," he said. "She's the one who got suckered by a pair of slaves and almost got us both killed." Her smile disappeared, and metamorphosed into the sullen look he was used to seeing during their entire trek from Rivet. "Your daughter has great bedside manner, doc" He told the man standing next to him. "Stuck me with a red hot knife."

She angrily opened her mouth, but her father interrupted. "She will be a better doctor than me someday. But you're right. She can get quite.. grumpy for such a cute young lady."

"Screw you two." The girl said and addressed Chance. "If ever I see you lying in a pool of your own blood, don't expect me to slow down. Sure, you're Mr. Tough guy now, but you were screaming like a little bitch when I was trying to get a bullet off your gut." She put her hand palm down onto her forehead and gasped, play fainting.

Chance laughed. Cute kid, he thought. Almost worth getting shot up saving.

Just then, a curtain opened and a small, waif of a girl walked in holding a bottle of water. "Mister Doctor sir," she said, in a small, soft voice. She was shyly looking down at her feet. "Here is the water you wanted."

"Good girl, Jessica." he took the bottle from the girl, who immediately ran next to Jule and hugged her legs. Jule put her arms around the baby, who couldn't have been more than six. She looked down at the girl and smiled. Not the strange smile she wore walking in here, but a soft, warm, friendly smile. Kodak moment, thought the injured man.

Arthur gestured at him with the water. He nodded. "Lets sit you up, then." With the Doctor's help, chance was in a sitting position, gulping down the water seconds later. It tasted cleaner than a lot of the water he'd drank before. But there was still that unmistakable tinge of radiation always present in the wastes. It was flat and warm, and by the time he finished the bottle, he was even thirstier.

Jule waited for him to finish his water to open the cola she had in her hands. He hard the hiss as the 200 year old gas escaped from the bottle. She put it to her mouth and pulled a long, slow swig. "Ahh," she said. "Nothin like Nuka on a hot day like today to get rid of a dry throat." Bitch, he thought. She let go of the girl. "C'mon, Jesse, lets play outside."

The girl smiled at Jule. She smiled at chance too, before pulling on the older woman's arm and leading her out of the room. "See you later, Mr. Rust." Jule had said after she disappeared.

"Sweet kid, the little one."

"Yes, and the first to be born here in Detroit. Everybody thinks of her as their own." The doctor answered. His eyes grew serious. "Thank you, for saving my daughter."

He nodded. Normally, he would say a smartass comment right now, but under that gaze, it was hard to think of anything to say.

"Pleasantries aside," the doctor said after thanking him. Chance watched as he walked toward the table where all of his gear was. He picked up the necklace and held it up to the light. "We have a lot to talk about, Paladin Ryman.."

Not surprised, he watched as the holotag spun below the doctors raised hand. He did not say a word.

"But that can wait until you can walk." The doctor said as he walked back towards the bed and put a book down on the tray beside him. It was old and moldy, but it was looked readable. "This is a classic," the doctor said. "Or, at least.. I think it is. Rest up. Get better. Ill go get you some food."

With that, the doctor walked out of the room. Chance looked at the book that the doctor left. On its cover, faded and barely visible, he read Chicken Soup for the Soul.


	6. Stairway to Heaven

Chapter 6- Stairway to Heaven

"Impressive, Mr. Chance," Arthur says as he examined his patient, who was cooped up in the clinic for the past god knows how long. "You've recovered quicker than I thought you would, considering the damage. The wasteland truly does make tough men."

"Fit as a fiddle," Chance replied, anxious to get out of the room. He never even opened the strange recipe book that the doctor left him on his first day of consciousness. He tossed it as soon as he had read the title. His days were passed daydreaming, and figuring out ways to irritate the doctor's daughter, who sometimes came in to check on him. It was fun, watching her wicked smile morph into a petulant frown at something he had said. She would always fire back with something equally biting, and he would laugh.

"Do you think you are up for a walk?" asked the doctor.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Chance stood up off the bed on his own power and looked down on his bandaged torso. He's been in better shape, he thought. "But then again, I've been in worse," he mumbled under his breath as he headed toward his gear, still neatly arranged on the table near the exit.. He watched the doctor watch him has he took the holotag from the table and twined it around his belt, hiding it inside his well –worn pants, where the doctor no doubt found it as he lay feverish and bleeding.

He threw on his long coat and thought about bringing one of his weapons, reaching for Ivy, but deciding not to. The doctor put his hand on Chance's shoulder as he pulled the heavy curtain open. "Lets get some fresh air." The doctor said.

"Funny man," Chance retorted as he stepped out onto the sunlight, and saw Detroit for the first time.

The first thing he saw was the large conglomeration of cargo containers that comprised the main building where the Benssons lived. He nearly laughed at how much it resembled one of the desolate pre-war houses that managed to survive the explosions. He often took shelter in them when he was out in the wastes. It was a two story structure, complete with a quaint tin roof and a porch complete with awning. He looked at the metal house whimsically and thought the only thing missing was a white picket fence.

His eyes scanned his surroundings and saw a structure that was even stranger than the house. It towered over the Bennson house and all the other makeshift dwellings on the compound. It was, he realized, a tower made up of container stacked on top of container, with ropes and ladders dangling off of one side. The containers were not aligned, but was rather jagged, and resembled steps. The structure was supported by heavy wooden beams at the end where the ends of the higher containers thrust out into empty air. It was ugly as hell.

"What the hell?" he asked, looking toward the strange structure.

"That's the Stairway to heaven," Arthur said. "It was the first building of the town, the first thing built, and the reason we were able to survive the raiders for those first few years."

Arthur explained that it functioned as a wall, a manned fort against raiders. When there was danger, the whole town would climb those steps, each container a mini armory, with kill holes, raider side out. The top was a perfect place for sharpshooters, armed with rifles. The containers were relatively bulletproof, and provided decent shelter from the rain of small-arms fire that the raiders typically carry. Better armed raiders were typically taken care of by the sharp-shooters from their perch high above. It was an eyesore, but Chance could see the advantage it offered in a firefight.

Arthur watched the man as he stared at the structure, lost in thought. His eyes were moving along the structure, taking it all in, scrutinizing it.

"You're lucky you've only been up against the moronic sort of raiders," he said. "A single grenade snuck in through one of those kill holes will clear one of those containers pretty quick. Knock one of those beams down, a missile launcher would do nicely after a few shots, and the whole thing would come tumbling down pretty quickly, everyone inside, dead meat."

"I don't know how good your snipers are," he continued. "If they were crack, and there were enough of them, a perch like that could keep an army away. I'm not surprised you held out though.. Hard to find a pack of raiders armed and organized enough to take that monster down."

Arthur did not say a word. The Stairway was Bart's first big idea for Detroit, and they had depended on it since the very beginning. For eight years, that mighty fortress stood, and this man he was looking at already has a way in mind of knocking it down. "Yes," he finally spoke. "A rather big group of raiders wanted to take Detroit, and attacked us constantly as we started out. Thankfully, though, we didn't need to use it this past couple of years. Things have been relatively quiet, and the town just.. grew." Said the doctor, looking at the giant eyesore that was the Stairway. "I personally think it looks ugly, but I cant stand the thought of tearing it down."

"I understand. You never know when some raider leader would take one hit of Jet too many and lead his men down here. Better an ugly wall than no wall at all in that situation," Chance replied.

"True," Arthur agreed. "But also because of all the blood spilled defending that ugly wall.. In a sense, to those of us that had to stand on it to defend Detroit, the wall IS the town."

Chance understood that. He knew how it feels to have comrades, brothers in arms, die at your side and how it changes you just the slightest bit less each time. So many have died around him that he can take it all in stride. He was a warrior, a survivor. That was all that he was good for. For a moment, both men stared at the wall, not realizing that it was pretty silent. It was Arthur that broke the silence.

"Welcome to Detroit, Mr. Rust. Chance. Ryman." He finally said. "What should I call you?"

"Call me Bob." He said. The doctor was puzzled. He scrutinized the man's face and saw that he was serious.

"Call me Tom, Dick, or Harry. I don't care. Names are just names to me. I change it whenever I come to a new place."

Interesting, the doctor said as he smiled in reply. Does he even know his real name? "I'll call you Chance."

"Whatever floats your boat, doc."

"Lets get inside," The doctor said. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I'd say."

Chance saw Jule playing with Jessica as they entered the Bennson house. She looked up from the little girl just long enough to nod her head at Chance, then went back to play. They were building a little town on the floor in the house, using books, empty cans, and other assorted junk. "This is my castle!" Jessica had said, triumphantly pointing to an empty metal cup stacked on top of a can of Cram. I'm the Queen!"

Seeing that they couldn't talk inside the house, the doctor decided to bring Chance to the porch. The incessant humming of the Refrigerator would be less distracting than the sound of Jessica's play.

"Alright, Lets begin. Who are you?" Chance could hear Jule's laughter from inside the house.

His hand went for his belt and pulled out the holotag. "Cant you read? I'm Paladin Ryman." The doctor just stared. Those eyes were starting to bug him. Fine. He took a deep breath and let it out, resigned.

"Ever heard of the Outcasts?"


	7. That Bastard, Casdin

Chapter 7

"This is my castle! I'm the queen!" squealed Jessica as she pointed at her tin can palace. Her eyes flicked up toward her playmate. "I'm the queen!" she puffed up her cheeks and stared Jule down.

Jule laughed. "All hail Queen Jessica! Ruler of Tinytown and tiny castle!" She smiled at the baby. Then looked at the shut door to the porch, where her father stood talking with the mysterious Mr. Chance.

"Hey, Queen Jessica. Lets play a different game." She suggested.

"Okay, as long as I still get to be the queen." The little girl replied.

"Sure," answered the older girl as she pinched the little girl's cheeks. "Lets play hide and seek. I'll count to a hundred. Remember the rules, stay inside the town and away from the dangerous places, okay? Whats the password for today?"

Jessica's face lit up "Your Majesty!"

"Okay. If you hear me yell "your majesty", that means you win and you have to stop hiding, okay?"

Jess stuck her tongue out. "Fine." Jule still remembers the first time she had "lost" the little girl while playing hide and seek. Sandara, Jesse's mother was frantic, and so was she. Jessica probably knew the little nooks and crannies of the truck yard better than even Detroit's founding father. She could hide and just disappear for hours. After that incident, Hide and Seek became a banned activity, but Jessica was not happy. Her tantrums were the stuff of legends. Eventually, she got her way and her favorite game was taken off the blacklist, if with a few extra rules.

"Good girl. Now go!" She made a show of closing her eyes and turning around, both actions exaggerated to let the kid know that she should get running. "One, two, three..." she muttered just softly enough for Jesse to hear.

Jule listened to her quick little footsteps fade away, then pressed herself to the wall. She strained her ears, trying to ignore the humming of the refrigerator on the other side of the wall

".... power armor.. technology of the brotherhood... completely different." The buzzing of the refrigerator was too loud where she was for her to make out everything that was being said. Jule realized that she was listening from directly behind it. Irritated at herself for her momentary lapse of intelligence, she moves away from the spot and closer to the door.

"At least thats all I've heard." she was able to make out her father's voice. This is a lot better, she thought to herself. "Can't say I've given much thought about it. I haven't had contact with the brotherhood in eight years." Brotherhood? As in the Brotherhood of Steel? This made her curiosity flare even more. She pressed her ear hard against the thin wall.

"Well," a different voice answered. Chance. "Thats close enough to what really happened. "Yes, there was a fight in the brotherhood. Yes, there was mass desertion. Yes, I was among those who.. deserted." Chance said the last word in such a way that Jule could tell it left a bad taste in his mouth. "But it all depends on who you ask."

"Long story short, after twenty years of battling super mutants, my mentor, the man I owe my life to and who brought me into the brotherhood had gotten it into his thick head that Lyons was too soft. That he had forgotten what the brotherhood was supposed to be doing here, and that he had gone native."

"Back then, I was Paladin Lance Ryman. And when the shit hit the fan, I had just returned from a long range recon mission. Thats what I did. I stalked off, sometimes alone, sometimes with two or three knights, wandered the wastes, checkin up on the muties, lookin for lost tech, or whatever the hell else Lyons might want me to do out in the wastes."

"You were a scout, then."

"The best one in the whole brotherhood. I've been around."

"Anyway," he continued after a pause, "I was dogshit tired, and I didnt even have the chance to take off my recon armor when Casdin pulled me aside and started talkin my ear off. I wasn't in the mood to listen, so I didn't really pay much attention. Figured he was pissed off at Lyons over something again. Had no idea how right I was. He told me to be ready, that its happening tonight. Shit, all I wanted to do was to get debriefed and hit the sack.

I was stupefied when Casdin woke me up in the middle of the night, In full power armor, and told me that it was time for us to go. I tried to talk him out of it. But thats like trying to convince a raider that Jet isn't good for your health. Apparently, a lot happened while I was out in the wastes. And Casdin, that bastard, got me involved. And so, we ditched the brotherhood. I figured even if I had stayed, Lyons would not believe that I did not know anything. Personally, I didn't care about brotherhood ideals and all that jazz. I just figured the citadel was as safe a place as any in the wastes to live."

Jule thought about what she was hearing. No wonder he was so good with a gun. He was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. And from what she was hearing, she got the impression that he was of a reasonably high rank. She could tell that he was a person that people would follow. She recognized that soon after they had started their trek from Rivet City. He gave off a similar vibe as her father.. that of a leader. This Casdin man probably recognized that about Chance as well. And used it. She continued listening.

"We set up a base somewhere, called it Fort Independence. Called ourselves Outcasts. A big Fuck You to Lyons and his goons. It only took me a couple of months to see the cluster fuck of a situation we were in. We were few, constantly under attack by raiders from Fairfax. Between the raider attacks and the lack of equipment, we were barely surviving, and we couldn't really afford to mobilize enough troops to effectively look for lost tech, which I thought was the whole damn point of the exercise. We were slowly rotting away. It was doomed from the start, really. And when I suggested to Casdin, rather forcefully, that we move out, at least somewhere not so close to raiders, and told him that we were getting nowhere, he flipped a switch, kicked me out with nothing but clothes and Angelina.

So here I am, an outcast from the outcasts. Go figure. Cant go back to the citadel. They'd shoot me on site the second they recognized me. Cant say I want to. Been out there, drifting, nearly a year now. Surviving. Scavving. Minding my own business. Life's surprisingly good, actually. I can usually scrounge up enough caps to get whatever I want.. which is usually another gun. I'm not tied down by some stupid code, and I'm free from politicking and that god damned heavy ass power armor. You have no idea how much it stinks in there after a while. Those things haven't been washed in two hundred years."

Somehow, Jule believed every word she heard. It did, after all, coincide with what she had seen. He moved like a blur, outnumbered (if not necessarily out gunned) and killed a whole group of raiders. She knew he would never be in that situation had it not been for her. And he certainly had no obligation to risk his life to save hers. She had no doubt that after that slimy raider killed her, he would have easily been able to give him and his flunkies the slip. Suddenly, knight in shining armor made a lot of sense to her.

She decided she had eavesdropped enough. There certainly was enough to keep her mind occupied for a while. She stepped away from the wall, as silently as she could. Trying to ignore the muffled words as the conversation continued on the other side.

"One hundred," she muttered as she went off on her search for a little girl, hiding somewhere in the town.


End file.
